


Chicago Accepted

by WPAdmirer



Series: Chicago Stories I [5]
Category: ER, X-Files - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 19:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WPAdmirer/pseuds/WPAdmirer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's time for Walter to return to DC, but will he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicago Accepted

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: I got tired of waiting for some good John Carter slash, and there's never enough Skinner fic to suit me.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: It's not the author's intention to infringe upon or profit from the characters created and owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions or the Fox Network, nor Warner Brothers and NBC. Skinner and Carter were borrowed temporarily and returned almost immediately.
> 
> SPECIAL THANKS: To KiMeriKal and Crysothemis for beta reading and friendship.

Assistant Director Walter Skinner sat at the table in the conference room and listened to SAIC Wilson attempt to explain why he was such a fucking idiot. Not that he would have put it in those words, but that was what he was doing, whether he knew it or not. He'd routinely played favorites among his subordinates, twice promoting men who played his games, and four times demoting agents who did not. To make matters worse, he'd given support to cases based on the same kind of arbitrary good-old-boyism that had marked his supervision. If stupidity were against the law, Walter would have arrested the man himself. Unfortunately it wasn't, and all he could do was demote the dumb son-of-a-bitch and hope like hell he got mad enough to quit.

The outcome of this hearing was going to suit his mood just fine. Just fucking fine, he thought.

Walter impatiently waited for Wilson to finish. When he finally shut up, Walter leaned forward and simply said, "Is that all, Agent Wilson?"

Wilson nodded.

"Good." Walter laid it all out. Wilson was demoted effective immediately. He was also to serve a 30 day suspension while the cases involved in the hearing were reviewed and it was determined if any should be reopened or otherwise disposed of. Agent Martin Devereaux would temporarily serve as SAIC of the Chicago office while a search was completed for the permanent SAIC. Did he have any questions?

Walter had to give him credit for being smart enough to say no. Walter gathered up his paperwork and put it into his briefcase. It was after one. He had a flight at four. With any luck he'd be back in D.C. in time for dinner.

An agent was asking him something. Walter turned and looked at the woman. "Sir, do you need someone to take you to the airport?"

Walter shook his head. "I've got a car. Thank you."

She moved quickly away and Walter realized that everyone was pretty much staying out of his path. He appreciated it. He was in no mood to fuck with anyone. He kept walking and his right hand reached into his pocket and felt the edge of the folded piece of paper. Fucking with someone was what had gotten him into this mood. What a goddamn glorious mistake yesterday had been. He'd said that he couldn't, then he'd offered himself up to Walter like a sacrificial lamb, and of course he'd taken him. He'd let his fucking small head do the thinking, and for that momentary lapse he'd awakened this morning alone with a note telling him goodbye.

If stupidity were a crime, Walter would have to arrest himself.

The airport was busy. He didn't know what it was about this damn city, but everywhere he went, the entire goddamn population seemed to follow. The only quiet, private time he'd had was in the company of John Carter. The kid had somehow carried a bubble of peace around him that Walter had been able to slip into for a few hours.

Walter stood in line at the ticket counter. An open clerk motioned to him and he walked up to the desk, setting his bag and brief case down on the floor next to him. He handed the man behind the counter his ticket and identification.

"Washington, D.C. on the four o'clock flight, Mr. Skinner?"

"Yes."

The clerk began to tap away at the keys on his computer. "Any bags to check?"

Walter started to set his bag on the scale, then he stopped. "What's the latest flight back to D.C. on Sunday night?"

More tapping of keys and the man answered, "You can take the red-eye leaving at 12:35 a.m. Gets into D.C. at 4:30."

"Fine." Walter handed the man his credit card. "Book me on that one."

Thirty minutes later Walter was standing outside Cook County General Hospital. He could see the emergency room entrance, but he had so far not been able to make himself go to it. He reached into his pocket and touched the note again. God, he was raising stupidity to new levels today. If he kept this up there was no telling where he would end up. An ambulance pulled into the bay and the doors to the building opened up. Walter saw a thin man with a beard in the crowd that was moving the patient inside. It looked like him. Probably was him. Maybe.

Walter took a deep breath. Well, there was no time like the present to be really, really stupid. He started walking to the entrance.

When he walked into the reception area it was the sort of organized chaos that Walter had seen in hospitals before. He always found it confusing, and this time was no different. He stopped in an open area and tried to determine who was in charge of something, anything that might lead him eventually to speaking with John. A nurse with dark curly hair laughed at something, and before Walter to speak to her, she and a big man moved away from the counter and disappeared through a doorway. A tiny red-haired women with a crutch pushed him out of her way as she moved past the desk. She looked no-nonsense and for a moment Walter smiled, wondering if all small, red- haired women were that intense.

Finally a man who appeared to be a doctor walked up to him. "Can I help you?" he asked. He was balding, wore glasses, about Walter's height, but much thinner. He seemed like a monument to calmness in the bustling noise of the ER.

"I was looking for…" Walter started, and just then John walked through a door behind the desk. John's face brightened and he smiled when he saw him. Walter felt the heaviness inside him lift and he smiled back.

"Walter, what are you doing here?"

"John Carter."

"Well, I guess you don't need me." The doctor spoke and Walter realized both he and John had become oblivious to the man's presence.

"Dr. Green," John said, "This is a friend of mine, Walter Skinner. Walter, this is Mark Green. He's one of our attendings."

Walter nodded at the man, trying to be gracious but anxious to get John Carter alone. He noticed the single up-raised eye brow of Dr. Green and recognized the universal sign of curiousity. He smiled.

John laughed. "We can talk in here," he said with a motion of his head.

Walter followed him into the doctor's lounge. It was a little more quiet, certainly not private, but a better place to try to talk.

"We need to talk," Walter said.

John nodded. "How long do you have?"

The door to the lounge popped open and a dark-haired man in scrubs sauntered in. There was no other word for his movement, Walter thought.

"Hey, Carter, can I borrow Lucy? I've got a kid with a rash in three that needs some TLC."

"She's gone to the lab. If you can wait until she gets back, she's all yours."

"Great. Thanks." The man slouched toward the coffee. Walter watched John. The other doctor was obviously in no hurry.

John cleared his throat. "Doug?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you give me a minute?"

Doug looked up and seemed for the first time to really notice Walter. He shrugged. "Yeah. Sure."

This Doug tested Walter's patience as he wandered out of the lounge, coffee in hand.

"Where were we?" John asked.

"I fly out at 12:30 on Sunday night."

"I work twelve hour shifts both Saturday and Sunday."

"We'll talk at night."

John nodded, that particular bobbing head nod of his. "Okay. Do you have a place to stay?"

Walter shrugged. "I'll get one."

John reached into his pocket and took out his keys. He took off two large institutional keys and handed them to Walter. Walter looked at them. Both were engraved with dire warnings about copying them. Obviously they were his keys to the dorm.

"I don't have a clue how to find this place."

John went to his locker and pulled out a battered backpack. He dug around for a moment and finally found what he was looking for. "Campus map. This is my building. Fourth floor. Look for the room with all the dents in the door from being knocked on at ungodly hours."

Walter took the map. "I'll see you there."

John nodded again and they walked out of the lounge together. John didn't stop at the doors, but continued outside with Walter. There were a few people having cigarettes standing in the cold air. John reached out and touched Walter's arm. "I should be there no later than eight."

Walter nodded. John's cheeks were already rosy with the cold. They stood, not touching, not speaking, and Walter realized that if he didn't walk away, John would certainly suffer hypothermia. He smiled, stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed back to his car. When he glanced over his shoulder before he turned the corner he saw that John was still standing outside.

The dormitory room was as depressing as Walter remembered them being. He'd brought his bag up with him. It lay on the bed, which seemed a good place for it. They needed to talk, so any obstacles that were between them and the bed were good. Walter didn't trust himself to think once John Carter was in the room.

It was ten of eight when there was a soft tap at the door. Walter was surprised when he answered it and John was standing there. He must have looked it because John smiled and said, "You've got my keys."

"Oh. Right."

John came in and dropped his coat on the bed, loosening his tie and turning around to face him. There was a long moment of silence, then John came to him. He leaned forward and kissed him, a chaste, sweet kiss of affection. Walter resisted the urge to grab him and pull him closer. "Oh, God, we've got to talk," Walter said softly. He moved away and sat down in the only chair in the room.

John sat on the end of the bed. He was almost the width of the room away from Walter, but it was too close. He was beginning to think that being in the same city with John was being too close. It was as though all rational thought drained out of him in the presence of John Carter. But he had to think, had to talk, had to come to some kind of decision here, or he was going to spend the rest of his life standing in the Chicago airport refusing to go home and terrified of staying.

"I'd like to declare a moratorium on sex. At least for tonight," Walter said.

"Any particular reason?"

"I think this is about more than sex."

"No shit." John smiled.

Walter groaned and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. "John Carter, do you have any idea the trouble this is going to cause?"

"Why do you call me John Carter?"

Walter opened his eyes. "It just sounds right. Don't change the subject."

"I wasn't. I like it. What kind of trouble? Your job?"

How could he explain his world to John? Not only would he have to deal with the fact that he was an assistant director at the FBI, a government employee with access to sensitive material, but he was also involved in a conspiracy against the people of this country, and sometimes he wasn't even sure which side he was actually working for. The last woman he'd had sex with was murdered in the bed. His ex-wife was killed in an attempt to ruin him. He'd had more than one attempt on his life, not to mention numerous beatings at the hands of shadow operatives whose fucking names he didn't even know and even if he did know he wouldn't be able to find. His subordinates have been threatened, shot, infected with diseases John have never heard of, and Walter hoped to God he would never see, and they operated so far out on the edges of what was legal that he was left tight-rope walking on a fucking thread between them and the destruction of their careers and their quest, if not their very lives.

"Walter, I thought about you all day."

There had been blood on the sheets. After Walter had showered and dressed he'd put his suitcase onto the bed to pack. Then he'd seen the blood. It wasn't a lot, but more than a couple of drops. "I hurt you."

John shrugged. "I knew it would hurt."

"If I try to be with you, I could hurt you a lot worse than that."

John looked stunned. "I don't understand."

Walter took a deep breath. "My work…if certain persons find out about you, they would hurt you to get to me."

Walter watched as John thought his last statement through. His dark eyes went from thoughtful, to frightened, and then suddenly brightened with happiness. He sat up and smiled. "You're falling in love with me."

Walter had the very real urge to reach out and strangle him. "Are you listening?"

"Yeah, yeah, some people might hurt me if they find out. But that means that you don't want to stop seeing me. That means you…"

"Christ!" Walter shouted interrupting John. "Listen to me, this isn't a joke. If I make you part of my life I endanger you. Do you understand that? You could end up dead."

"I understand that two days ago I was alone. I understand that all I've thought about since I left your bed this morning was how was I going to live without you. Now you're here and you're telling me that someone might hurt me if you make me part of your life. Well pardon me if the only thing that I really give a shit about is the part where you say you want to make me part of your life. I work in the ER. People die around me all the time. But finding something that resembles love doesn't happen all the time."

"Only someone as young as you would be that flippant about dying." Walter felt the rage bubbling in his chest. His jaw hurt from clenching. He was really having to control the urge to just reach out and pop John Carter a good one right in the mouth. Asshole! He was worse than fucking Mulder for only hearing what he wanted to hear.

"Now who's changing the subject?"

Walter was up and on him with a sound that even to him sounded like a growl. He dragged John to his feet, and gripping him by the arms shouted into his face, "Listen to me! I cannot do this again. I cannot stand by and watch someone die."

Walter stared into John Carter's face and was surprised to see that he wasn't afraid. "You can't scare me off, Walter."

Walter released him and began to pace the short width of the room. Neither of them said anything for a while. Finally John broke the quiet. "We can be careful. I'll be careful."

Walter went to him and wrapped his arms around him, pulling John close, pressing his face against the side of John's head, feeling the softness of his hair and beard. "I didn't mean to hurt you. You shouldn't have let me."

"I thought I'd never see you again."

"Not a good reason."

"It was for me."

God, the kid just didn't get it. Walter closed his eyes and held him close. He smelled of soap, coffee and other things Walter didn't recognize. Probably scents from the ER that he didn't want to know. He felt warm and soft, and Walter didn't want to let him go. But John Carter didn't understand.

Walter pulled away. "Sit down, John Carter."

John started to reach for him, but he backed away. "Sit down. Now." It was the low growl that made even Mulder behave. John responded appropriately, stepping away and sitting down in the only chair. Walter began to pace at the opposite end of the room.

"You see death all the time. Disease, accidents, attacks. I don't. I push paper. I sit in meetings. When I do see it…when I have seen it in the past five years, it's been personal. Very personal. Three people were murdered because of me. One of them was my wife."

John was silent. Walter couldn't look at him. He looked at the walls, the floor, the ceiling and he continued to pace.

"I can't tell you why. The work I do, the work my agents do, is classified. I can't explain to you why you would be in danger just for being with me. Just for being someone I care about."

"The why doesn't matter."

Walter looked at John. He looked so young sitting there. He looked vulnerable. "I would rather die of loneliness," Walter spoke softly.

"Don't I have a say in this?"

Walter shook his head.

"What…how long will you give me?"

"Sunday night."

"That's not much time."

"It will have to do."

John came to him and stood face to face, close enough that Walter could feel his breath. "I'm going to try to change your mind."

Walter embraced him, holding him as close as he could, as close as he dared. John's stomach growled loudly and Walter began to laugh. "Sounds like I'd better feed you."

"There's a good pizza place near here."

Walter shook his head. Yet another thing John Carter and Mulder shared. Jesus, they were just two fucking peas in a pod sometimes. It was a little unnerving.

"You don't like pizza?"

"How about real food? I'll buy."

John nodded. "All right."

Walter was hungry himself. He hadn't had anything since a sandwich in the Chicago office during the meetings. Being empty wasn't doing a thing for his patience and his temper, and he needed to be in control of both if he was going to be with John Carter for a few more days. There was no doubt about that.  
***

When they returned to the room, the emptiness of the building seemed to weigh on them both. Walter was surprised at how different it seemed from the hotel room. Although that had not been much larger in space, it had seemed like a refuge, a safe place in the midst of the world. Here, the room was like a cell. The feeling was of having been sent to a gulag, lonely, cold, silent. Almost entirely unpleasant.

They showered, brushed teeth and then closed and locked the door to John's room. John put on some music, and Walter immediately questioned his taste. "What is that?"

"Jazz organ."

"Jazz organ? John Carter, jazz piano, jazz trumpet, jazz, saxophone, but never jazz organ."

"I like it." Walter was amused. John had this way of making statements that denied further discussion. How could you argue with someone who's primary defense was his own opinion?

"Come on, don't you have something else?" Walter rummaged through his CD's and came up with a compilation disk of Art Tatum. He changed the CD. "Now that's jazz."

"It's good, but you've got to give this other stuff a chance. I guarantee you'll like it if you listen to it." John sat on the bed next to Walter. "Are we done talking? For now?"

Walter nodded.

John Carter leaned over and kissed Walter. The kiss was not chaste or sweet in any way, but passionate and sexy and full of longing. Walter pulled away.

"Walter, fuck the moratorium. I want you."

They kissed again and this time Walter allowed himself to be drawn into it. He could taste the mint of toothpaste, and John's damp hair smelled like apples. He pulled away from the kiss and nuzzled the side of John's face, searching for and finding his ear, sinking his tongue deep into the folds. He could feel the heat coming off John's body increase.

"Oh, God…"

They slid down from sitting to lying, and John quickly threw one leg across Walter's hip, pressing his growing erection into Walter's groin.

Walter ran his hands down John's body, from his shoulders to his buttocks, cradling each cheek in a large hand and pulling him closer. He let go of one side and let his fingers trail down to John's scrotum, and then drift back to his anus.

"SHIT!" John pulled away from him in one push, and was standing next to the bed before either of them realized it.

"Sore?"

John blushed fiercely. "Yes. Damnit. Shit."

"Do you have something for it?"

The blush got deeper which Walter seriously would not have thought possible.

"Yes. I'll take care of it." John fumbled for something to put on.

Walter got up from the bed and went to him. "Suppositories?"

John nodded.

"Where?"

"Refrigerator. White pharmacy bag." He nodded toward the small refrigerator that was on one side of the room. Walter found the bag and removed one of the suppositories. A plastic box of finger cots were also in the bag. He took one.

"Lie down. On your stomach."

John didn't move. "I can do it."

"I hurt you." John was more than hesitant. "Jesus, John. I've had my finger in your ass before."

Walter started to laugh and for a moment he thought John was going to leave the room, but then he shook his head. "I don't know if I'll ever get used to this." He flopped down on the bed and covered his face. Walter gave him a minute and then he rolled over onto his stomach.

Gently Walter pushed the suppository into John Carter. He looked bruised and raw, and Walter once again felt ashamed that he'd caused this. John wouldn't have done it, but he thought it was what he wanted. And indeed it had been. Being inside John had been a powerful experience, but if it meant never doing it again to keep from causing John pain, then so be it. He tossed the cot into the trash.

"Now, where were we?"

John looked over his shoulder. "I have to get some sleep. So can we do this one at my speed?"

Walter kissed John's shoulder, then nipped lightly at the muscle going up to his neck. "Whatever you want."

John rolled over and motioned for Walter. "Come here."

Walter smiled and covered John's body with his. It felt so right.


End file.
